


Come Get At Me

by orphan_account



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Charmie if you squint, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-02-03 19:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18585490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He knows how lucky he is, how short this moment could be. Even if the success continues, he’ll soon be too old for it to be charming if he pops up red-eyed in the background of a party photo or makes moody posts of his feet in the desert while playing that song.So here he is, propelled by luck and praise and all the miles he’d tried to put between himself and his memories.Continuing my tradition of Timmy pairings that no one asked for, here's a fic I wrote about a year ago of Timmy and Tyler the Creator in a VIP tent at Coachella. We're in a drought. We need all the fic we can get. It's...it's angsty, folks. No two ways about it.





	Come Get At Me

Timmy knew the desert would be hot. What he didn’t know was that at night it would be so, so cold.

 

Don’t misunderstand. If you’d told Timmy two years ago that he’d be a VIP at Coachella, hanging out with The Weeknd and Tyler the Creator, hearing his  _ own name _ in a song, he’d have laughed you out of the room. He knows how lucky he is, how short this moment could be. Even if the success continues, he’ll soon be too old for it to be charming if he pops up red-eyed in the background of a party photo or makes moody posts of his feet in the desert while playing  _ that song _ . 

 

So here he is, propelled by luck and praise and all the miles he’d tried to put between himself and his memories. He did everything he was supposed to, booked a VIP tent in tasteful neutral colors, went out to parties, got high enough to tell himself he was happy because he was happy and not because he was high, talked to Abel and Tyler and a ton of other really creative people. It really did make him feel like his blood flowed differently when he bounced ideas off people like these, and it made him feel shiny and proud to hold his own talking about his craft with his idols.

 

And yet. Even the best night still has a 3 a.m. at the end. That’s where Timmy is right now, staring at the spot where all the polished artisanal wood ceiling beams converge at a single point in his tent. They’re the same color as the glass of bourbon in his hand. The bottle on his bedside table is about half full and yet it hasn’t succeeded at making him sleepy. Once he’d posted that Mystery of Love story earlier, he knew he had to keep his mind occupied, or, failing that, at least numbed. This was the mood where he’ll end up texting Armie if he’s not careful ( _ your eyes. they’re far away. why?) _ , sending a photo of himself cropped artfully, writing out an email that says everything he wants to say and runs on for 17 lines and the last thing he types is  _ but I’ll erase this _ and then he does.

 

Timmy’s jiggling his leg to release tension and burn off some of the whiskey so he can replace it with more, thinking maybe this will be the glass that lets him sleep, lets him forget. He’s shaking his leg so hard on the bed that he almost doesn’t notice his phone is vibrating. By the time he notices the phone has been ringing it’s stopped, and Timmy swipes his finger to see his notifications. He sees a missed call from Tyler and hates himself for his undiminished hope that it would have been Armie.  _ Is this ever going to stop? _ There’s no voicemail, of course, because this isn’t 2009, and Timmy wonders idly what Tyler wanted. He doesn’t have to wait long; a text message follows quickly on the heels of the phone call.  _ Hey T, ready to party? _

 

Timmy smiles in spite of himself, shoots off a quick reply.  _ You know how confusing it is when you call me T, T. Your set was fucking phenomenal btw. But I think I’m in for the night. _

 

It can’t have been ten minutes since he sent that text before a baffled flapping sound ruffles the entrance to his tent. A moment later Tyler sticks his head inside the flap.”Is this what you do for fun? Hide out in here so I have to figure out how the fuck you knock on a tent?”

 

“Dude, did you send that text from, like, next door? How did you get over here so fast?”

 

“I was on the way from the after-party to the after-after-party and I was gonna pass by your tent. Thought I’d swing by and pick you up.” Tyler sees the whiskey bottle, the growing space at the top of it, and cocks an eyebrow at Timmy. “Looks like you’re halfway to a good time tonight. Now all you need is, like, some other people maybe?”

 

Timmy’s back to staring at the ceiling beams. The last place he wants to be is a raucous party. He’s been trying that all weekend and has only just now realized that if he’s going to feel alone anyway, he somehow feels less so if he’s not in a crowd. “Thanks man, but I’m gonna stay here. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

 

The bed dips beside Timmy. “That bad, huh?” Tyler says, more softly this time. Timmy rolls his head to the side to see Tyler sitting at his waist, almost touching Timmy’s hip. Tyler’s holding the bottle of whiskey and as Timmy watches, Tyler takes a long drink. Sets the bottle on the floor. Catches Timmy’s eye, and follows his sight line to where Timmy was staring. “That’s not much to look at compared to all the stars out here. They’re so fucking clear out here, you know.” Tyler bends down to reach for the bottle again, and when he sits back up he’s moved closer to Timmy. Their hips are touching, and the contact plus the whiskey makes Timmy feel warmer. He hadn’t expected the desert to be so cold at night and had only packed flannels and a thin bomber jacket. He shivers involuntarily as his core grows warmer.

 

“You cold?” Tyler asks, and stretches out fully alongside Timmy on the bed. Timmy does feel warmer, more comforted, and maybe it’s the whiskey making him brave but he leans his head on Tyler’s shoulder.

 

“I was. This is better. Thank you,” and Timmy goes to nuzzle Tyler’s neck in gratitude. When he gets his head locked in under Tyler’s jawline, he find that he no longer wants to move away. As soon as they touched a low electrical signal passed between them, and it’s still there, humming, and Timmy knows this is the moment it will either be brought to ground or fanned into a spark.

 

Tyler reaches over, cages Timmy’s jaw with his hand, tilts Timmy’s head to one side and then another. Their eyes lock and Tyler raises an eyebrow at Timmy. A question. A question Timmy knows the answer to. This question is not  _ if I feel you when I touch her, how can I stay?  _ It’s not  _ why didn’t I meet you ten years from now or in another life, when wanting what’s good wouldn’t hurt?  _ The question is just  _ Now? Here? _

 

And Timmy’s answer is  _ yes _ . He brushes his lips roughly over Tyler’s, tastes his own whiskey there, rolls on top of Tyler and starts to slide his hands under Tyler’s shirt. Tyler pulls away, whips his T-shirt off and tosses it on the floor, and for a second all Timmy can think is  _ I have  _ **_got_ ** _ to start going to the gym more _ . Timmy presses his lips to Tyler’s once more and then starts kissing down Tyler’s torso, running his hands over Tyler’s abs, starts kissing them, feeling their firmness. It’s comforting and new and  _ definitely not like a statue. Nope, this doesn’t feel at all like caressing a precious antique that’s just been brought up from a lake for me to admire. _

 

To distract himself again Timmy moves his mouth past Tyler’s abs, unbuttoning the button of Tyler’s jeans and trailing kisses down, down, following his hand as he undoes the zipper and pulls Tyler’s jeans and boxers down, letting his cock spring free. Timmy takes Tyler’s cock in his mouth, drawing the warm length of it in, feeling it bump against the back of his throat, and he finds a rhythm, moving his head and chasing it with his hand, that damn near enables him to forget everything except  _ now. here. _

 

When Timmy feels Tyler’s breathing speed up and catch at the back of his throat he pulls his mouth off with a pop and hears Tyler chuckle. Timmy reaches to the bedside table, opens a drawer and pulls out the lube he had kept there just for this, just in case he decided to try and forget Armie in the most unconventional way possible. Tyler’s chuckle breaks into a full-blown howl. “Well someone planned on getting lucky,” Tyler quips, hooking his hand under the waistband of Timmy’s sweatpants and rubbing a lazy circle on Timmy’s side. When Timmy sits fully upright again Tyler pulls at the waistband and Timmy shimmies a little to help Tyler pull them off. Timmy coats his palm in lube, rubs himself lazily with it, and works one, then two fingers into Tyler to warm him up. Tyler nods, whimpers a bit, keeps nodding, and Timmy bites his lip at the enthusiasm of Tyler’s reactions. When he can work three fingers in he removes them, slowly eases his own cock in, and takes Tyler in his other hand. He moves slowly at first, throwing his head back, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of Tyler’s cock in his hand, enjoying the shape and feel and smell of a new body in his bed. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that he hasn’t been with anyone since Armie. Timmy opens his eyes, sees Tyler roll his head, hears his breath hitch, and Timmy increases his rhythm. Immediately he tries not to laugh at himself calibrating his rhythm while literally fucking one of his musical idols. The whiskey makes him smile involuntarily at the thought.

 

“What’s so funny, huh?” Tyler asks hoarsely, and Timmy grins and leans down to kiss him, Tyler grabbing at a handful of Timmy’s curls and holding him there a moment longer, until Timmy pulls away, thrusts faster, his hand flying over Tyler’s cock now and all sense of rhythm gone as his movements blur into one, and then he’s coming and shuddering and Tyler’s cock grows slick in his hand and he collapses onto Tyler’s chest, panting. Tyler laughs, and his chest shakes beneath Timmy’s cheek. Timmy rolls off the bed, plants a final kiss on Tyler’s chest, and brings them damp towels to clean up with. Tyler pulls his jeans on, shoots Timmy a mischievous grin, and takes a final pull from the bottle of whiskey on the floor. 

 

“Well, that was a fun after-after-party,” Tyler quips, leaning in to kiss Timmy one more time. “I guess you do know how to have a good time in this room with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and yourself.” Tyler pulls his T-shirt on, ruffles Timmy’s hair. “You sure you’re not coming?” Tyler cocks his head toward the entrance to Timmy’s tent, but Timmy shakes his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, you be good,” and with that Tyler is gone, probably to some after-after-after-party Timmy won’t even have heard of.

 

“Tomorrow is today,” Timmy whispers to himself, in his too-big sweatpants, clutching the nearly-empty bottle of bourbon in one hand. The whisper sounds as loud as a waterfall in the silent cloth room of the tent. And maybe a bit of the sound slips outside to the cold desert air, where the sun is creeping up the side of the San Jacinto mountains, where the words are warmed until they won’t make Timmy cold again when he whispers them over and over again until he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr.


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